


if i tried i know it would feel like infinity

by bixbux



Series: Trophy [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Major Character Injury, Prequel, Recovery, can you tell that i've never played fifa in my life, eric appears for like a second, not described in detail but if that's a sensitive topic for you proceed with caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-02 11:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20732198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixbux/pseuds/bixbux
Summary: Being a teenager was confusing. There seemed to be so many rules about what to say as a guy, what to do.  Harry felt like there was a secret rule book that nobody had bothered to tell him about. He always had the feeling of being slightly off balance, sometimes being at loss of what to reply to others, because he wasn’t sure how they’d take it.But on the pitch he knew exactly what to do. He always knew where to pass to, which option to take. He knew his role, his place in the universe.Which made the injury so much harder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Harry before he meets Eric.

When Harry thought back to his childhood, there weren’t really many individual moments standing out. Maybe the first time he visited his Grandparents in San Sebastián, feeling shy in front of those two kind old people who seemed to love him without even knowing him. His 6th birthday where his mum had somehow managed to get really good seats at White Hart Lane and he was so close to the players that he momentarily forgot how to breathe. That time when he and Ali, his best friend from primary school, went camping and they stayed up talking until the early morning, falling asleep so close to each other that there was no space left between them. 

Apart from that, it seemed like lots of similar days blending together and forming one big impression. Always playing football somewhere, on the streets, someone’s back garden, school grounds. Grass stains on all of his trousers, sweat on his brow, dirt and blood mixing on his knees. Endless school days, fidgeting on his chair, copying homework on the bus. Dinner with his mum, every single day, so normal and important, a comforting constant. The third chair at their kitchen table empty ever since he could remember, leaving a constant hollowness somewhere in his rib cage, hard to trace but always there.

In Year 3 their English teacher asked them to write an essay about their dream job, so naturally Harry wrote about wanting to captain England some day, like 4 other boys in his class. He didn’t even have to think about it. 

At age 11 his coach told him that footballers needed to keep a strict diet, alcohol and sweets being a no go. Harry, who’d always been stubborn once he’d set his mind on something, vowed to never drink alcohol in his life. He kept that particular promise until a night in April 2018, where he’d gotten so drunk that he didn’t remember any of it. 

On one of the best days of his life he came home from training in the evening to find his mum excitedly chatting in Spanish, grabbing a letter from the kitchen table and handing it to him with a huge smile. It was the acceptance to Tottenham Hotspur Academy, and he felt breathless while leafing through the thick pages.

The day of his first training his mum seemed more nervous than him. All Harry felt when he approached that big building was a sense of belonging, the feeling that this was how it was supposed to be. This was what he’d been working towards. Matches instead of birthday parties on Saturday mornings. Saving his pocket money for new football boots. Going on runs instead of playing Fifa after school. 

Training was hard, and his coaches were strict, never holding back with their criticism but for Harry, this had always been the plan. There was nothing else he could imagine himself doing. He never felt more like himself like when he was on the pitch. 

Being a teenager was confusing. There seemed to be so many rules about what to say as a guy, what to do. Harry felt like there was a secret rule book that nobody had bothered to tell him about. He always had the feeling of being slightly off balance, sometimes being at loss of what to reply to others, because he wasn’t sure how they’d take it.

But on the pitch he knew exactly what to do. He always knew where to pass to, which option to take. He knew his role, his place in the universe. 

Which made the injury so much harder. 

He knew that he’d been in the hospital for two weeks after the surgery but he didn’t really remember any of it, any of the doctors or visitors. All he remembered was pain and hollowness and his mum’s face when she saw how much weight he’d lost. 

Harry had never been an angry person. On the pitch, sure, he was as pissed off as everybody else when the ref made a poor call. But off the pitch, he rarely fought with others, never used his fists apart from playful banter with friends. But during those weeks and weeks of just wanting the days to end he felt himself constantly getting irritated. Angry at what people said to him, what people said on TV, facebook posts, insta pics, tweets. 

Some football players said that coming back from an injury had made them stronger, that they had learned new things about themselves and their body. Harry thought that they could all go fuck themselves. His right knee always hurt. Even when he was on painkillers, wearing his comfiest pyjamas and his mum massaging his temples, it hurt. It hurt like there was something missing, and there was. 

Because football had been his life, and now he couldn’t even bear to watch it on TV without wanting to scream. 

He went to physiotherapy twice a week to build up enough muscles to support his fucked up knee, but he hated the boring exercises and the endless repetitions. Afterwards he always felt tired, frustrated with his body and close to crying. He used to be able to run several miles without breaking a sweat and now a few push-ups seemed too much, and most of all they seemed pointless. 

Nothing his friends said to him made him happy. “Get better soon mate” annoyed him. As if that helped him the slightest. “Come on, leave the house for a change” left him with blind rage. It was easy for those dickheads to say that. They didn’t have to use crutches, they didn’t have a massive scar on their right knee, they didn’t have a constant scowl on their face these days.

After a while, people stopped reaching out and Harry couldn’t blame them. 

He tried going out with some friends from school, one time. They’d gone to a bar and someone had gotten shots for all of them, way too many and way too many different kinds of alcohol. Harry had nearly declined out of habit, but then he’d remembered that now that he wasn’t on his way to become a professional footballer anymore, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted in his free time. Bitter and frustrated, he’d thrown back shot after shot while the others had cheered him on. Two hours later, he was lying on the sidewalk outside, noisily vomiting into a drain. Kate, a girl he knew from Double Science, sat next to him and called his mum, while the others had already left for a rave at the other end of the city. 

Not that he remembered that part. He remembered bright colourful lights, the smell of piss and people shouting over loud music. Then nothing. The next day he’d thrown up three times more, and his mum had stopped trying to get him to go out with friends. 

It was his mum who never left his side, and to this day Harry felt a lump in his throat when he thought back to these days. His mum and Kyle, a teammate from the academy who he hadn’t even been that close with before. 

It was summer, a few months after his injury and Harry couldn’t bear the idea of being out in the sun, so he spent his days inside, closed blinds, watching Netflix. His mum was visiting her parents in Spain, without Harry because he’d refused. 

These days, Harry wasn’t really feeling angry anymore. The constant sharp pain in his knee had changed into a dull throbbing when he strained it too much or didn’t do his strengthening exercises diligently. So he did the bare minimum and continued to stumble through his daily life, feeling disorientated and stuck at the same time. 

He didn’t know how to find his path again, how to move forward, so he continued to hide from the world. 

On this day he was watching Breaking Bad when his phone’s screen lit up and he didn’t react at first, but he’d seen this particular episode of about six times so with a dissatisfied grunt, Harry picked it up. His eyebrows shot up. 

_hey mate this is kyle_

_haven’t seen you in ages, wanted to ask if you fancy a round of fifa later_

Harry hadn’t heard much from his teammates in a while. The team and coaches had sent a card while he’d been at the hospital, and people had texted him about coming to see their games but thinking about them playing without him made Harry feel angry, so contact had gotten less and less. 

Kyle had been an alright lad, laid back and funny, but not begging for attention like a few others. He was a right-back, quick and creative on the field. He and Harry had chatted for a bit after training most days, and they’d end up running together during endurance drills but they’d both had other mates. So this reaching out surprised Harry a bit.

His first instinct was to just not reply, or make up something about being on holidays – it was late July after all. Most people around twenty were somewhere with their friends, getting drunk and sun burnt at a beach in Spain or France. 

But then a notification from Netflix popped up on his laptop screen, asking him if he was still watching, reminding him that he’d been in bed all day. And suddenly all Harry could think about was his mum’s face when he’d declined accompanying her to Spain.

His throat closed up and he was sick of this, so fucking sick of his room, of his sweatpants, of his bed. 

Angrily he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and unlocked his phone, texting Kyle back before he could second-guess himself.

_sounds good, wanna come round mine in an hour?_

Without waiting for a reply, Harry took of his clothes, not wanting to try and remember how long it had been since he’d washed them. He slammed shut his laptop and marched to the bathroom to take a long shower.

Half an hour later, he’d put all the clothes lying around in his room into the laundry basket, the windows were wide open and he’d put fresh sheets on his bed. He could be a good host, for fuck’s sake. He'd even put on jeans.

He’d texted Kyle his address, and was now waiting for the doorbell to ring. 

Suddenly, he felt nervous. What if Kyle asked him what he’d been up to since having to leave the team. What if Harry had completely forgotten how to talk to people. What if there’d be awkward silence. What if-

_hey mate i’m here_

Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, Harry went to open the door. 

Kyle was wearing yellow shorts and an oversized white shirt, grinning widely.

“Hey, good to see you.”

“Uh yeah, you too. Come on in.”

Harry led Kyle to his room, turning on his play station and nervously raking his fingers through his too long hair. Fuck, he needed a haircut, he probably looked fucking pathetic. 

“Do you want something? A drink?” His mum would be proud.

“A coke would be great, thanks!” Kyle was already choosing the teams.

Taking deep breaths, Harry got them coke from the fridge. Upon returning, he found Kyle lounging on his bed, going through different settings on the play station. He looked completely at ease; not knowing that he was the first person beside Harry’s mum to be in his room since February. 

Harry sat down next to him, still feeling stiff and awkward, but once they started playing he relaxed a bit. Kyle didn’t seem to mind that they weren’t speaking much, sipping on his coke and making cheeky comments if Harry lost the ball. 

After a few games, Harry got new drinks and some crisps. Kyle put on Drake on his phone through Harry’s Bluetooth speaker and they relaxed, warm evening air coming in through the windows. Somewhere, there was the noise of police sirens. Cars drove past, and several busses.

_I don't know how to talk to you_  
_I don't know how to ask you if you're okay_  
_My friends always feel the need to tell me things_  
_Seems like they're just happier than us these days_  
_Yeah, these days I don't know how to talk to you_  
_I don't know how to be there when you need me_  
_It feels like the only time you see me_  
_Is when you turn your head to the side and look at me differently_

Kyle was typing something on his phone and Harry was staring outside, the sky turning pink and orange. A plane was leaving its trace right through the colours, like a scar. Suddenly he felt like talking to his mum, so he sent her a message on Whatsapp, asking her how her day had been, if her parents were alright, what the weather was like in Northern Spain.

Once he was done, he threw his phone on his pillow and grabbed more crisps. Kyle was quietly singing along to Drake, still scrolling through something on his phone. He seemed to sense Harry watching him and looked up.

“You alright?”

Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just a bit surprised that you texted me, that’s all.”

Kyle shrugged, yawning. “Summer’s a bit boring when everybody is on holidays. Plus I haven’t seen you in ages so.” 

Harry immediately felt uncomfortable, waiting for Kyle to ask him how he’d been doing, why he’d never visited the team but nothing came. He relaxed a bit. A wave of gratefulness overcame him, that apparently there were still some old mates who hadn’t completely forgotten about him and who didn’t feel weird when talking to him. So he decided to make an effort. 

“How – um. How are things with you?” His voice got quiet by the end of the sentence but Kyle seemed to have understood.

“All good, yeah. Summer break right now, innit. Pre season starts in two weeks.”

Harry had expected to feel pain at the first mention of football but all he felt was the dull thumping of his heart. He swallowed, his throat weirdly dry and avoided looking at Kyle.

“We don’t need to talk about the team, Harry.” His voice was very gentle, as if he was talking to a scared child. 

Harry nodded weakly, his fingers absently touching the scar on his knee. 

“Another round?” Kyle picked up the discarded controllers and threw one of them on Harry’s lap.

“Sure.”

So they just played. 

It became a ritual. Kyle would come over in the early afternoon and they’d play Fifa and listen to music until it was late, not talking much because there was no need, enjoying the warm summer evenings. Harry started getting groceries so he’d have more snacks to offer to Kyle apart from crisps. Once or twice he even hoovered the flat, feeling proud of himself afterwards. A part of him expected Kyle to get tired of him, or himself to start pushing his friend away again, but hanging out with Kyle was effortless, and after weeks of solitude it felt good to share his space with somebody again. 

One day, Harry got a haircut at a barber shop around the corner, and Kyle gave him a blinding smile when he saw him, saying that he looked well fit. Harry told him to piss off but he grinned back, feeling lighter somehow, more like his body really belonged to him and he had the power to control it. 

That evening, after hanging out for a few hours, Kyle glanced at his phone and then poked Harry’s thigh with his foot to get his attention.

“A few friends of mine are going out tonight. Want to come along?”

Harry’s stomach formed a tight knot. He stared at his phone, pretending like there was something interesting on his instagram feed. “Not really.” 

Kyle kicked him again. “Why not?”

Harry gave him an annoyed look which had no effect at all. “I don’t drink.”

“Neither do I.” Kyle was unfazed, giving him a cheeky grin. 

“I. I don’t want to talk to people.” Harry muttered, feeling childish but too panicked at the prospect of meeting a group of strangers to get a grip.

Kyle scooted closer, seeming more serious now. “Harry. It’s really lowkey and everybody’s sound.” After a short break he added “You can’t hide in your room forever.”

At that, Harry got up abruptly and walked the few steps to his window, staring outside while angrily biting his lip. “I’m not hiding”, he said sharply. 

Kyle joined him at the window and stared at him until Harry turned his head to look at him, still angry, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hand.

“Harry, mate. I know you’ve been through a shit time and I know that I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling. If you really think that staying at home would be better tonight, I won’t say another word. But just think about it, okay?”

Harry swallowed thickly, staring back outside. There were children playing on the sidewalk, kicking a ball around between cars. His vision got blurry and he had to blink away tears. Kyle put an arm around his shoulders. 

One of the children, a girl who couldn’t be older than 7 or 8, tripped over a crack in the pavement and fell. She tried to be brave and walk it off but Harry could see that her knee was bleeding and her lips were pressed together. 

For a moment Harry felt ridiculously old. His childhood felt so far away. When was the last time he’d played on the street with friends? He couldn’t remember.

He took a deep breath and raked through his short hair, still unused to the sensation. He glanced over at Kyle and he was smiling at him. Harry smiled back, feeling calmer now. “Let’s get ready then.”

“Yes!” Kyle was grinning now, clearly excited. “Show me what you’re gonna wear.”

Harry hadn’t worn anything suitable for going out in months and he was worried that his old stuff would be too large for him, but with Kyle’s help he found a white shirt and ripped jeans that he liked and that fit him alright. 

During the evening Harry felt his nerves act up several times, and he felt awkward when people asked him what he was doing in his spare times, not knowing what to say. Kyle never left his side though, and his friends clearly made an effort to make Harry feel welcome and at ease.

Several people sticked to non-alcoholic drinks, so Harry didn’t feel awkward about only ordering virgin cocktails and soft drinks. He didn’t want to have another alcohol-related break-down.

The bar they stayed at for most of the evening played hits from the 90’s and 00’s which resulted in loud singing along and trading nostalgic memories of dancing to Britney Spears as children. 

Juan, an old school friend of Kyle’s, mentioned getting his first blow job to a Backstreet Boys song at a house party and the table erupted in loud laughter.

“I want it thaaat way”, Harry sang badly and Kyle nearly choked on his drink giggling. 

Juan gave them a lazy grin and raised his pint to his mouth. “He definitely wanted it that way.” he added nonchalantly and now it was Harry’s turn to choke on his Tonic Water. 

Nikita, who sat next to him, thumped his back. “You alright?”

“Yeah” Harry said weakly, coughing a bit and wiping his wet face with his sleeve. He looked up to see that Juan and a few others were looking at him weirdly. “What?” he asked nervously. 

“Do you have a problem with gays blowing each other?” A girl whose name Harry had forgotten eyed him with a critical facial expression. 

“Oh. OH. God, no.” Harry shook his head, laughing a little. “Definitely not.”

The tension eased and Juan gave him an easy smile. 

Harry looked around, at this group of people who had made him feel so welcome tonight and cleared his throat, his heart beating forcefully in his chest. “I’m gay, actually.” 

No oppressive silence. No uncomfortable jokes. Just the same group of people, smiling at him. A general sense of appreciation that he’d shared it with them without making it seem like a big deal.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. Kyle put his arm around his shoulders again and gave him a gentle squeeze, while the conversation at the table turned towards which club they’d be heading to next. A place not far was decided on, they paid for their drinks and the group stumbled outside, where the air was still warm.

Harry felt tired from all the socializing and decided to head home, looking forward to falling into his bed and getting a good night’s sleep. 

“Thanks for going out with us tonight. I know it wasn’t an easy decision.” Kyle’s eyes were bright in the light of the street lamps. 

Harry smiled at his friend, feeling light in a way he hadn’t felt in months. “Thanks for making me go.” He hugged Kyle tightly, trying to convey his gratitude, which the other young man returned. 

Turning away, Harry shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Around him, there was a bustle of people but Harry felt like he was the last person on Earth, following a road with a destination still unclear. 

His heart was beating in his chest, steadily, grounding him. 

Harry took a deep breath and walked home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we are all Harry when we see Eric in workout clothes.

_Could it be you calling me down?_  
_My foolish heart turns at the stars_  
_All I am is all that you see_  
_You don’t need nobody else, and you’re putting this all on me_  
_Forgive me_

The intro to a Bryson Tiller song was playing through Harry’s headphones as he stepped out the door, squinting his eyes at the blaring sun. He took his sun glasses from the breast pocket of his shirt and put them on, and turned to the right, starting to slowly walk down the pavement. 

He took his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, unlocking the screen. Kyle had texted him ten minutes ago.

_i’ll be there a bit later srry_

They were meant to meet up at a café around the corner in five minutes, but seeing as he had some time, Harry stepped into the corner shop and got himself a Cornetto. After only a few steps outside, it started melting and dripping on Harry’s fingers. 

The last days of August had arrived and the city was sweating. Everything moved slowly, traffic was a nightmare and even the sleekest business men in their suits looked disheveled on their way to work. 

It was Sunday afternoon, Kyle had had a match at home against Everton and they’d agreed to get an iced coffee afterwards and catch up. Now that training had started again for the Tottenham players, Harry didn’t see him as much anymore, but they tried to get together at least once a week. 

Sometimes he still felt a bit bitter when Kyle mentioned the team, and what his daily life was like, but mainly there was a sense of disconnection, like he’d finally understood that going back is never an option. He’d never lead the same life, and while he wasn’t completely fine with that, he’d at least started to accept it.

Sweat was dripping down his back, making the grey shirt he was wearing stick to his skin, as he walked towards the small café at the edge of a nearby park. Wooden letters above the entrance formed the name “The White Lily”, white flowers painted around the words. 

The tables outside were crowded with couples, young families and elderly people, excited voices from the playground opposite forming a noisy background. 

Harry threw the wrapping from his ice cream in the trash, wiped his sticky fingers and took off his headphones, starting to approach the café and looking out for Kyle. 

“Over here, mate!”

Kyle was waving from a small table in the corner, squished between trash cans and a messily cut hedge. His sunglasses and phone were laying on the table, next to a half empty water bottle. 

Harry walked over to him, giving him a quick hug.

“Hey bro, how you doing?”

Kyle smiled at him, but it didn’t reach his eyes and there was a crease in his brow that wasn’t usually there.

“Same old, innit.” The usual enthusiasm was missing from his voice.

Harry gave him a confused look, but decided to let it rest for now. Together they entered the café, heading for the counter.

A brunette barista was listing off their list of special summer drinks to a tall man in workout clothes, who seemed a bit amused at the overwhelming selection and ended up ordering a double espresso on ice. 

Harry glanced over at him, momentarily distracted by wide shoulders and muscular arms. The man’s blond hair was short at the sides but longer on top, and sweat dropped down his neck.

Harry’s stomach tightened and he had to suppress a quiet moan. Shaking off the urge to lick a stranger’s neck, he turned back towards the counter, shakily asking for a strawberry milkshake. Fuck, it was too hot outside. 

Kyle ordered a fat-free iced latte, and by the time the two of them headed back outside with their drinks, the blond man was long gone. 

They ended up taking their drinks to the park, sitting down under a big oak that offered some shade in the afternoon heat. Harry leaned back against the trunk, took a sip of his milkshake which was wonderfully cool and looked up. A few single sun rays made their way through the leaves and made him close his eyes for a while, just feeling the warmth on his face.

A quiet sigh from next to him brought Harry back to reality. He looked over to Kyle, who was staring at some point in the distance, his drink seemingly forgotten.

Harry nudged him with his elbow. “What’s up, mate? You alright?”

Kyle looked at him unhappily but still tried playing it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Come on, talk to me” Harry scooted a bit closer to his friend. 

Again, Kyle sighed and Harry hated it, hated seeing his mate this upset.

“It’s the team.” Kyle mumbled. “We lost 0:6 and I played shit and everybody knows it. The others wouldn’t even look at me.” He started down at his hands.

Harry’s brow knitted together, but it wasn’t because he was envious that Kyle got to play, that he was living the life Harry had always wanted. It was anger that his friend was treated like that by his teammates.

“It’s never one player’s fault.” He said sharply. “You win as a team and you lose as a team.”

Kyle didn’t reply.

“You didn’t score six own goals, did you?” Harry tried again.

Kyle scoffed, but it half sounded like a laugh so Harry took it as a win. 

“No, it’s just.” His friend took a shaky breath. “I almost never get to play in the important games, and today I did and fucked it up. I really wanted to prove my place in the team but apparently there is no place.” He buried his face in his hands.

Harry didn’t know what to say. He wanted to ask if Kyle had given his best, if he had played as if the league depended on it, but he knew how these kind of questions tended to make you feel worse after a loss, so he held back. 

Next to him, Kyle took a deep breath and visibly pulled himself together. His smile still didn’t really reach most of his face but he seemed to try and put it behind him.

Harry put his left arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Just try and do your best tomorrow at training. The coaches know that you work hard.”

He got a grateful smile then and happily smiled back. 

After another quiet few minutes, Kyle put on some music and they spent the rest of the afternoon lazily chatting about movies and celebrities they were crushing on. Kyle was just describing his plan on making Jorja Smith fall in love with him by smoothly sliding in her DMs, when Harry’s phone rang. Still laughing, he said “sorry mate” and answered.

When the person at the other end of the line started speaking, Harry felt the blood rush from his face and he sat up straight.

“Hello, this is Ryan Mason from the Tottenham Hotspur Academy. Am I speaking to Harry Winks?”

“Yes?” It sounded like a question but Harry was feeling a bit faint. He hadn’t spoken with anybody from the club in months. 

“I am calling to inquire whether you would be interested to take on a coaching role with our U8 and U10 teams.” A short break, then after Harry didn’t say anything: “If I am interpreting these forms correctly, you were a very promising player for our first men’s team until a knee injury in February forced you to retire.”

“Yes sir.” Harry forced out between his teeth. 

“We are currently undergoing a shortage of staff in our development of young talents, and of course we would like to offer these opportunities to people connected to our club. If you are interested at all, and our coaches remember you as a bright lad, you would undergo a rigorous training and start as a co-trainer with one or two teams.” 

Kyle was looking at him with a confused face. Harry swallowed dryly.

“Uh. I appreciate the offer, sir. I’m going to have to think about it.” He said weakly.

“Of course. Let me know as soon as possible, please. There are a lot of applicants.”

With shaking fingers, Harry hung up and explained the situation to Kyle. His friend seemed excited. “That’s so great! You’d be an amazing coach!”

“I don’t know, man.” Harry mumbled, suddenly feeling tired in the heat. He scratched the scar on his knee absentmindedly, a habit he’d picked up when he was feeling uncomfortable. 

“What’s there to think about?” Kyle asked confused. “This way, you could still have a career in professional football.”

Harry bit his lip, watching a few children kick a volley ball around a few meters away. He could feel Kyle watching him, and suddenly all Harry wanted was to go home.

“I’ll think about it.” He gathered his things together, waved at a confused Kyle and quickly started walking away.

His feet carried him home without having to think about it. His breathing came quickly and even though the temperature outside was still high, he felt weirdly cold. He raced the stairs up to his room without taking off his shoes and threw himself down on his bed, burying his head in a pillow. 

Why wasn’t he feeling happy? Kyle was right, this was his chance to get back into the life he had always planned for himself. He had always liked kids and enjoyed teaching them things. The image of himself showing excited young talents how to move the ball as if it was glued to their feet was a wonderful one. He could see his mum’s happy face, watching him leading his team to success and teach them how to deal with losses. Why didn’t he want this? What was wrong with him? 

Frustrated he got up and moodily stomped into the bathroom, deciding to try and clear his head with a cold shower.

Afterwards, having changed into comfy sweatpants, he felt a bit calmer. 

Harry had always been an intuitive type. When faced with a decision, he didn’t take out a note pad to write down pros and cons. Rather he took a few deep breaths and usually knew pretty quick what he wanted. 

The idea of walking back to the huge white training center that had been his home for most of his youth and walking past the men's pitch to the kid’s section didn’t appeal to him. 

He rather liked the idea of going into training some day, he always had. It was a common choice for footballers after their playing career was over, after all. 

But not like this. Not right now.

Feeling like today had been the longest day, Harry crawled into bed and opened Netflix on his phone. Kyle had told him about a series called “The Get Down” which he’d planned on watching for ages. Seemed like now was as good a time as any to finally start watching it. 

Hip hop music started playing and his screen showed graffiti sprayed on trains. Harry made himself comfortable and started to relax. 

The morning afterwards, Harry was cleaning up the dishes from breakfast, his mum already having left for work. These days Harry’s schedule mainly consisted of cooking meals for the two of them and cleaning up, before going out to meet Kyle or other friends. He’d grown close to a few of Kyle’s friends, mainly Juan and Nikita, who both attended The University of London, Juan getting a degree in Sports Science and Nikita writing her master’s dissertation in Political Science. They were kind, easy to talk to, and made him leave his house, which we was deeply grateful for. 

Today, Nikita had texted him at 7:13am.

_please take me out for coffee later, or i’m actually going to fall asleep in the library _

_lol ok_

He was looking forward to it. Kyle had checked up on him last night, asking if he was okay after the phone call with his old club, and once again Harry was deeply grateful to have him as his best mate. He decided to be more attentive to Kyle’s struggles and moods. Their friendship shouldn’t mainly revolve around him, after all.

He was planning on talking to Nikita as well, asking her what she thought of this surprising offer to start coaching. She had an analytical mind and was scarily good at guessing his thoughts sometimes. 

An hour later found him in front of a Starbucks near Regent’s Park. The weather was a lot colder compared to the day before, and he closed the zipper of his Nike jacket.

Nikita rushed out the door, a huge scarf wrapped around her shoulders, two pumpkin spiced lattes in her hands.

“You really haven’t tried one of these before?” she asked incredulously, handing him one of the cups. 

Harry shrugged and inhaled the smell coming from the lid. “Pumpkin and coffee sounds a bit weird together, not gonna lie. Smells good though.” 

Nikita laughed and led him to an entrance to Regent’s Park. Inhaling the crisp autumn air, so different from yesterday’s oppressive heat, they started walking. 

“What’s going on with you then?” She asked after a few quiet minutes, warming her hands on the steaming cup she was holding.

Harry sighed and gave her a quick overview over what was troubling him.

“- and I don’t know, I’m pretty sure that I don’t wanna do it, but I feel so restless. I don’t want to coach right now but I want to do something. I don’t know.”

He took a sip of his coffee, pleasantly surprised at the spicy sweetness filling his mouth. 

Nikita was pensively staring in the distance. She had listened to his rant without interrupting him once, but her thoughtful face signaled that she was mulling over his words.

“You know, my sister is a boxer.”

Harry looked over at his friend, a bit confused by the sudden change of topic.  
“Okay?”

Nikita signaled him to be patient. “She’s ten years older than me and she was always my idol, still is. She used to play football when she was younger, and we’d always play together after school. She’d put me in goal and practice free kicks. Or I had to be a defender and she dribbled past me.”

Her voice sounded distant, talking about times long gone. “She actually went to America on a football scholarship after finishing school. I missed her so much, but I tried to not show it. My big sister, getting places. I was dead proud and all I wanted was to be like her.” 

She looked at Harry and smiled sadly. “But you know how it goes. It didn’t work out. She got injured and had to come back home. We picked her up at the airport and she was crying.” 

Harry swallowed, knowing all too well what that was like.

“It was really hard at home for a while.” Nikita continued. “Natasha didn’t want to do anything and I stopped playing footie as well, which she was really angry about. But I knew that I wasn’t good enough to go professional, and I was okay with that. It had always been my sister’s dream, not mine.”

“So how did your sister deal with it?” Harry asked quietly.

“My parents wouldn’t let her stay in bed all day. They’d wake her up, make her do things around the house. At some point, Natasha started going to a nearby gym, to let out her frustration by working out. She’d return in the evenings, shaking of fatigue and always getting cramps because she overworked her body. She’d done some kick-boxing as a teenager, good cardio and all that. But now that’s all she was doing. Boxing in the morning, working at Tesco’s in the afternoon and going on long runs late at night. And she was good at it. A coach noticed her, made her follow a sensible workout plan. She competed at the Olympic Games in 2012.” 

It had started raining lightly. Colorful leaves were dancing around Harry’s feet, picked up by the wind. Had he really been sweating in the sun yesterday? 

Nikita took his hand and squeezed it lightly. “I’m not saying that the only way to feel better is to find another kind of sport you excel at. But what helped my sister was exercise and a clear structure in her days. And then you follow that routine and keep your head up until you find something that you want to do. Maybe it’s boxing, maybe it’s coaching, maybe it’s a master’s degree.”

Harry felt a bit lost. A part of him felt defensive, wanted to say that it wasn’t that easy. But suddenly he remembered what his physiotherapist had said to him during their last session. 

_Your knee might be frail, mate, but the rest of your body isn’t. Upper body workouts are no problem, and neither is cycling or climbing, stuff like that. Even running is okay now and then, as long as the soil isn’t too hard and you don’t overexert yourself._

The paper cup in his left hand was empty and he crumpled it together, throwing it in a nearby trash can. 

“I know what you’re saying.” He mumbled, feeling Nikita’s gaze on him. “But it’s hard.”

“I know” she said gently. 

They turned around and walked back in the direction of the exit. Around them, the wind was picking up and rain drops were blowing in their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story about Nikita's sister is true btw (tho I took some creative liberties)! The things you find out when you're doing fanfic research...
> 
> Feedback and comments very welcome :)


	3. Chapter 3

Harry had been working at The White Lily for only a few weeks when his friends visited him for the first time. It was meant to be just Kyle, but when the door to the café swung open at 5pm and Harry looked up from stacking flapjacks in the counter display, Nikita was the first to approach him, nearly hidden behind scarves, a woolly hat and a massive coat.

“It’s freezing outside.” She complained. “Make me the biggest hot chocolate humanly possible.”

Behind her were Kyle, Juan and somebody Harry took a few seconds to recognise. Then it hit him.

“Dele?!”

His former teammate gave him a cheeky grin. 

“Nice apron, Winksy.”

Harry left his place behind the counter to hug his friends, feeling a smile cover his face. 

“How come you’re all free?” he asked incredulously. 

“Can’t be arsed with the library today.” Nikita took off her hat and removed hair ties and clips, curly brown hair spilling on her shoulders.

“Training finishes at 4.” Kyle was looking around the semi crowded café, trying to spot a table for their group.

“Skipping my seminar.” Juan winked at him. 

“I just came for a free coffee.” As always Dele was a bundle of energy, tugging at Harry’s apron, messing up his hair, all the while never standing still. He had been even worse as a teenager, seemingly never being able to shut up or follow instruction correctly. 

Harry hadn’t seen him for months, and he was a bit overwhelmed by his old friend’s nervous energy. He eyed him inconspicuously. Dele seemed taller and buffer than he used to, and his teeth were weirdly white.

“What happened to your teeth?” Harry asked dumbly.

Dele grinned and winked at him. “Brand new dentures, Winksy.” 

His smile was the same as it had always been, but at the same time it looked different, showing impeccable teeth instead of the slightly crooked, smaller teeth of his teen self. It was the smile of a celebrity, of a professional athlete who knew that investing in their body meant a financial investment that was sure to result in bigger wages through sponsors, magazine covers and stuff like that. For a second, Harry felt a bit sad looking at his friend, feeling how different their lives were at this point, strangely missing their innocent friendship from years ago. 

But then Dele skipped over to the table Kyle had chosen, Nikita changed her order to a caramel latte and Juan asked if they had any cookies that were high in protein but low on sugar, and Harry simply felt grateful that they were all here. 

His friends stayed until Harry had to close up at 7, laughing and arguing loudly about the most unnecessary things, Dele’s childish character clashing a bit with Nikita’s thoughtful nature, but they managed to not let it spiral into real arguments.

As they all left the café, Harry turning the lights off and locking the door, Dele grabbed his free hand and tugged him along.

“So Winsky, how’d you end up working here?” 

Harry was used to Dele’s excessive touching, had always enjoyed how to his friend, cuddling and even kissing were nothing sexual but rather a basic need to connect to others via touch. Dele hated sitting or standing by himself and would always prefer to drape himself over someone. Sometimes Harry thought that one of the things Dele liked the most about football, apart from actually playing football, was how accepted it was for the players to constantly hug, shake hands and even slap each other’s arses. Dele needed touch, simple as that. Harry had been jealous of him sometimes, how easy he made it seem to just approach others without making it weird. 

He cleared his throat. “They had flyers up that they were hiring and I thought I might as well. It pays alright and makes me leave the house so.” He smiled self-consciously at his friend.

A small frown appeared on Dele’s face. “You alright, Winksy?”

Harry wanted to make a remark about how he hadn’t exactly been on a 7 month holiday in LA, but he knew that Dele didn’t mean it like that, and deflated a bit.

“Yeah, sure.” He mumbled, throwing a glance at Kyle, Juan and Nikita who were walking in front of them, keeping close together against the light rain and wind. 

Dele had never been the type of person to hold long conversations about feelings, always making jokes at inappropriate moments and seeming uncomfortable during serious talks. He was able to make friends with pretty much everybody, effortlessly making others feel included, but at the same time there seemed to be an invisible border around him, keeping you from really getting to know him. Excessive banter and a distinct lack of sharing about his personal life and feelings made you wary of coming to Dele with a private problem. There had been instances where Harry and Dele had been pretty much cuddling on their team bus, sharing headphones and laughing about something together but still. Still. Harry never felt like he had actually seen Dele expose his inner self. 

It was the same today, apparently. Dele didn’t ask further questions, just gave Harry a peck on his cheek and then started ranting about this cool jumper he had seen online and wanted to buy, but did Harry think the price was over the top, cause now that he thought about it he hadn’t even liked the colours that much and-

Harry made affirmative noises at the right moments and enjoyed the warm feeling of Dele’s body next to him, letting his chatter wash over him. 

He felt tired from his shift, aching feet and back making him wish for his bed and a hot water bottle. He slept better these days, his body exhausted from work and early mornings, his mind calmer knowing that he earned some money and his mum worried less. 

Dele had now moved on to a new nightclub in central London he’d heard about and was dying to go to. “ - and Kyle said he’d come, if we don’t have a game the next day, and you have to join us of course, we haven’t gone out together in ages Winksy, and you know how cute you get when you’re drunk so I’m thinking next weekend, yeah?”

“I work early morning shifts next weekend.” Harry protested. “Serving baby boomers on two hours of sleep would actually kill me.”

“Oh come on”, Dele whined. “They have glowing shots!”

“Not a chance.” Harry gave his friend a hug. “That’s my bus, I’ve got to run. Bye, everybody!” 

He waved to the others and jogged to the bus station while everybody else made their way to the nearby underground station. He could feel Dele’s pout behind his back but he had gotten very good at resisting his ideas and refused to feel guilty.

It had been really sweet of Dele to come visit him at work... But, no, Dele on a night out was a catastrophe waiting to happen and Harry wanted to keep his job for a while, thank you very much. Falling asleep over muffins and scones would be a sad way to get fired after not even a month as a barista. 

Feeling resolved, Harry put his hood up and plugged his headphones in, closing his eyes while getting lost in the music. 

_You weren't the boy I thought I knew_  
_Maybe I was blind, I was young, I didn't have a clue_  
_You were the topic of my lunch times_  
_I'd bore the girls about our chance_  
_And get upset when you didn't text back_

_I was warned by my brothers to find another lover_  
_Stop falling for these boys who didn't want the same as me_  
_And I was warned by my brothers to find another lover_  
_Stop falling for these boys who didn't want the same as me_

Suddenly it was December already, people came to The White Lily to drink gingerbread lattes and eat cinnamon cookies, and public transport in London broke together on snowy days.

Harry had settled into a nice routine of working nearly every day and walking or taking the bus home, depending on how tired he felt. In the evenings he had dinner with his mum or met up with his friends, having grown increasingly close to Kyle, Juan and Nikita. Dele texted him a lot, and now and then he joined the others on their semi-regular trips to Harry’s workplace, mostly to try and persuade Harry to go clubbing with him. How he managed to start for Tottenham nearly every match despite his apparently wild night life, Harry couldn’t begin to fathom. Lack of sleep didn’t seem to bother Dele as much as it did other people, only making him more jumpy than usual, if that was even possible.

On one rainy Sunday morning, Harry was bleary-eyed getting ready to start his 8 am shift, taking several minutes to tie his apron behind his back, when suddenly Dele came crashing through the entrance, nearly unhinging the door.

“Winksy! Baby!” he yelled, skipping towards the counter. 

“Dele? What the fuck.” Harry rubbed his eyes, feeling like he was in some sort of strange dream.

For the next ten minutes, Dele continued to tell Harry about how he hadn’t slept yet, how he’d been dancing with this guy at the club, and then comforting a crying girl (”I think I was in the ladies room, Winksy, it was so clean”), and then he’d craved a coffee so here he was and was his mascara smudged?

“A bit.” Harry said truthfully, in the process of getting Dele a large Vanilla Latte (even though long ago he’d made a vow to never give his friend sugar and caffeine in one drink, cause it tended to nearly make Dele vibrate out of his skin). 

“Shit. Hand me a tissue, will you.” 

For a while he was nearly quiet, sorting out his makeup and sipping on his latte, making obscene noises the whole time. 

“Winksy, you’re a doll.” 

Harry had served 18 coffees to go and countless lattes, cappuccinos and flat whites by the time Dele was ready to leave, having spent the time either chatting endlessly or texting people. His friend leaned over the counter and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

“I’ve got to get at least a few hours of sleep or Poch might actually kill me.”

“You have a game later?” Harry asked incredulously. 

Dele flashed his brilliantly white teeth at him. “Southampton at home, 4 pm. You should come.”

Harry busied himself with wiping the counter, not looking at his friend. “I’m alright. Don’t want to watch you fall asleep on the pitch.”

Dele rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a dick, Winksy, Kyle is starting. And I’ll be fine by then. “ One last wave and a cheeky “See you later!”, then he was gone.

Harry stared after him, chewing on his lower lip.

“My, that young man of yours talks quite a lot, doesn’t he.” An elderly woman from a nearby table gave him an exasperated look.

“You have no idea.” Harry mumbled and got back to work. 

The next few hours, while serving customers and doing dishes, a fight raged on in Harry’s chest. 

_I don’t want to watch them play, I’ll be cold and miserable_ was immediately shut down by _Don’t be a dick, it would mean so much to Kyle_ but then immediately turned back into _I can watch it on TV, i don’t want to see the other players._

By the end of his shift at 2pm, Harry was annoyed with both the situation Dele had put him in and himself. He exchanged a few words with his co-worker Sandra and stepped outside, squinting into the suddenly sunny sky. 

For a second he hesitated, but then he told himself sternly to get a grip and made his way to the bus stop. On his way to North London, he texted Dele.

_omw now. get me a ticket pls xx_

Even though the team was probably warming up together, the reply came only a few minutes later.

_sure thing baby boy come to the players entrance_

Nearly an hour later, Harry was standing in front of the stadium he’d loved for all of his life, feeling his heart beat in his chest the same way it had done the first time he’d gone to see Spurs play. He could see himself walk up to the entrances with all the other people, dreaming about the day where people would come to watch him play. A small boy with a big dream, coming back years later. 

Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the players’ entrance, shoving through the crowd of people a little bit more forceful than necessary. A security guard took a quick look at his ID, letting him enter through the gate and leading him through a long tunnel towards the stands. 

The next few minutes felt like coming home.

The noise, the lights, the chants, the smell of beer and grass, the songs played over the stadium speakers. Harry didn’t know how, but his feet carried him to a seat quite close to the pitch where he’d be able to see the players’ faces properly. 

He sat down, clutching his phone, just looking. Looking, breathing, smiling. He was a child again, waiting excitedly for the teams to walk on the pitch. 

The next two hours were a blur. Kyle played, he played for 90 minutes and Harry shouted his name until his voice was raw and his throat hurt. Spurs played well, only giving their fans a few near heart attacks when defending a bit shakily but Kyle played well, and Harry Kane scored two goals, and Dele didn’t fall asleep. It seemed like he was dancing over the pitch, light on his feet and in full control of the ball, and Harry couldn’t help but think that he seemed the happiest when he was playing. In contrast, Kyle looked deeply concentrated and grim, clearly giving his all and collapsing down on the ground when the ref gave the final whistle. 

Harry nearly fell down the stairs when rushing in the general direction of the changing rooms, wanting nothing more than hug his friends and tell them how well they played. He pushed through people, dodged children and beer cups, and then he was in front of the home changing room. Took a deep breath. Knocked.

And suddenly there was Dele, jumping around like a hyperactive child. Hugo in deep talks with Harry Kane and Pochettino. Son, smiling at Harry and hugging him. Lamela and Eriksen, shouting something. Danny sitting next to Toby, both greeting Harry enthusiastically. Finally there was Kyle, confused and wide eyed when he saw Harry, but then grinning his happiest grin and Harry was so, so glad that he’d come. 

It smelled of sweat and it was too loud, but Harry was home. Dele was holding his hand and Kyle was still smiling at him and he was home. 

That evening when Harry crawled into his bead, wearing fluffy pyjama bottoms and a Spurs shirt, he had trouble falling asleep despite having had an early morning. Scenes from the stadium and changing room flashed around in his mind, how nice the team had been, Poch’s quiet words of support and questions about his well-being, Harry Kane getting everybody to sign his shirt and giving it to Harry, making it seem like a normal gesture between friends. 

His feet twitched under the sheets and Harry did feel sad for a second then, wanting nothing more than run a few laps around the pitch, but then he resolutely grabbed his phone and opened Google.

_cheap gym london_

He found several options that seemed worth looking into, and having taken a few screenshot, contentedly put his phone away, closing his tired eyes. 

The next morning Harry woke up to several texts from Kyle. They had all been sent last night between 11pm and 3am.

_harryyyyy_  
_dele is taking me out for drinks with paulo and skippy_  
_i was so happy that you came to watch today it meant so much to me_  
_youde suxj a great friens ily_  
_fuuucxxkk im drunl_

“Oh Dele.” Harry murmured, yawning while getting up and putting on fresh clothes. 

On the bus he replied, leaning his head on the window and suppressing more yawns.

_are you okay xxxx_  
_i love you too call me if ur still alive x_

It was Dele who sent Harry a life sign in the form of a photo of Kyle in the team meeting room, deep shadows under his eyes, listening to Pochettino with an empty look. Later a selfie of the two of them during lunch, Dele looking annoyingly energized, Kyle nearly falling asleep over his cup of coffee.

Harry suppressed a grin and took a sip from his water bottle, enjoying his short lunch break in the back room, which was warm and beautifully devoid of customers. He sent another text to Kyle.

_come round later i’ll make u more coffee_

When Kyle entered the café in the late afternoon, he collapsed onto the chair closest to the counter. Dele skipped after him, giving Harry a cheeky grin.

“Hi Winksy!”

“What did you do?” Harry sighed, getting two coffees ready. 

“I just took our friend out to show him how to properly celebrate a good game.” Dele had his best innocent face on, but Harry had known him for too long. 

“You celebrate after every game even if it was shit, Del.”

Kyle let out a raspy laugh and grabbed the cup of coffee Harry had put in front of him. “You’re the best, mate.”

“You’re alright.” Dele took a sip of his own cup, loudly smacking his lips after. “You’re no Kyle. Now that’s somebody who knows how to party.”

Harry raised his eyebrows while Kyle groaned. “I’m never drinking again. I nearly threw up on my own boots this morning.”

“But the club was sick, admit it!” Dele protested, putting his feet up on the table until Harry pushed them back down again.

“Behave, dickhead.”

Kyle was clutching to his coffee like a drowning man to a life belt. “It was okay.” he mumbled. “Too many lights. Too loud.”

“See? It’s perfect!” Dele smirked and turned to Harry. “Friday night. You and me. Come on, what do you say?”

Harry grabbed a tray and started clearing away empty cups. “I need to work now.”

“Winksyyy, please!” Dele begged. “You’re cute but I have a nicer butt, so you’re no serious competition. Live a little!”

“I’ll think about it.” Harry rolled his eyes and gave Kyle’s head a little rub. “Go to bed, mate.” Turning away, he focused on a group of teenage girls entering the café. Dele helped Kyle up and pulled him to the exit, keeping up his endless stream of chatter.

That evening after locking up, Harry didn’t take his usual bus home but grabbed his Nike bag with workout clothes, opened Google maps and made his way to a gym twenty minutes away. It had looked nice enough online, quite big so that hopefully he could find a quiet corner and find out how fit his body was these days, with three free entries before having to get a membership. 

It was sobering, panting on a mat next to the luckily empty rowing machines, feeling his arms shake after a few sets of push ups with sweat drops rolling down his face, tasting the salt on his lips. Ten squats, a short break, then ten more. His thighs were starting to burn. One more set. Then crunches, set after set after set until he was gasping for air and his whole body was shaking. A few minutes on the treadmill to cool down. 

Everything hurt, but fuck, he felt good. Harry knew this feeling. He knew how to push his body just far enough. It felt weird to already finish and get changed after only a bit over thirty minutes, but Harry knew that overworking himself would help nobody. Still panting, he sat down on a bench in the changing room, massaging his knee and taking large gulps of water. 

“Good workout?” A man opposite Harry was just changing out of his work clothes, loosening his tie, grinning. He had clearly taken in Harry’s exhaustion.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Harry laughed a bit self-consciously and shook his sweaty hair, starting to untie his shoes. 

“Nice one, mate.” 

Harry smiled to himself the whole time while getting changed. Leaving the gym, he put on some music and quickly made his way to the bus stop, enjoying the feeling of his slightly aching muscles.

_These bitches want Nikes_  
_They looking for a check_  
_Tell em it ain't likely_  
_Said she need a ring like Carmelo_  
_Must be on that white like Othello_  
_All you want is Nikes_  
_But the real ones just like you_  
_Just like me_

Relaxing to Frank Ocean, Harry sent off a quick message to his mum, telling her that he’d be home soon. On a whim he also opened his chat with Dele, impulsively starting to type.

_oi del u still up for a friday night out? i’m game xx_

By the time Friday had arrived, Harry didn’t feel so sure about a night out with Dele anymore. After a long and exhausting shift with lots of dissatisfied and rude customers, and a quick workout at the gym, all he wanted was his bed, food and a movie. But Dele had sent him excited texts every two hours (how he managed to use his phone during training, Harry would never understand) and wouldn’t appreciate a last minute cop out.

So Harry napped for an hour before forcing himself to get out of bed and down a red bull. He took a shower, put on perfume and a nice shirt, gave his mum a quick kiss and got an Uber to the address Dele had texted him. 

A Craig David remix was playing on the radio and luckily his Uber driver didn’t seem to want to start a conversation, so Harry looked out the window, the lights of London passing them by. He still felt tired, but the excitement of a night out started to kick in and while Dele could be a pain to be around, he definitely knew how to party. 

As the car pulled up to the club, Harry started to feel a bit nervous again. Well-dressed people were crowded before the entrance, animatedly chatting and laughing. Was his shirt nice enough? Should he have shaved? Yeah, smooth cheeks made him look about five years younger but his beard was still a bit patchy and that might be even more unattractive. Taking a deep breath and mumbling a goodbye to the driver, Harry pushed the car door open and got out, stepping on the concrete. He started to look around for Dele, chewing on his lower lip. 

“Winksy!” 

For once in his life, Dele was on time, beaming at Harry as he rushed towards him. 

“Hey Del!” Harry croaked and grabbed his friend’s hand, needing the familiar grip of long fingers around his to ground him.

Dele was wearing excessively ripped grey jeans and a colourful jumper that was wonderfully soft to touch. Harry thought that he probably looked a bit plain next to him in his blue jeans and white button up, but he knew that he felt the most confident when wearing a classic look, so he just held tightly onto Dele’s hand and let himself be pulled into the masses of people, his friend shouting careless greetings to a few people they passed. 

“How often have you been here?” Harry asked breathlessly.

“Often enough that I know most bouncers.” Dele winked at him. He must have told the truth, because they only exchanged a few words with the heavily tattooed man in the black suit before they were waved past – and usually Harry had to show his ID when he went clubbing, which at 22 years of age was getting a bit embarrassing. 

Kyle had been right. Inside it was very loud and there were flashing lights everywhere. Dele shouted something that Harry didn’t understand and pulled him towards the bar, a modern wooden construction with fairy lights everywhere and weird glowing lamps that seemed oddly fluffy and changed their colours.

“Are those lamps covered with fur?” Harry shouted in Dele’s ear, but his friend just shrugged and gave him a cheeky grin. The crowd pushed them closer together and Harry could smell Dele’s sweet perfume, something fruity and light. 

They dance floor was only a few meters away, on a slightly raised level. A big group of giggly women in high heels and short dresses stormed past them, visibly eager to dance and embrace the weekend. 

Suddenly Dele thrust two large glasses into his hands, nearly spilling some of the alarmingly pink liquid on Harry’s shirt, leaving again and returning with two bright blue drinks.

“Bottoms up, Winksy! We need to get you into the party spirit.” Dele seemed like a man on a mission and the cocktails actually smelled really good so Harry didn’t protest and took turns sipping from the differently coloured drinks. They tasted sweet and a bit sour and Harry could feel himself brighten up, shaking off the last of his sleepiness. 

Dele had already finished his blue drink, looking around excitedly and nodding his head with the rhythm of the thumping music while crushing an ice cube with his teeth. Harry felt the bass pound in his stomach and chest, suddenly giggling for no reason. His giddiness only increased when Dele looked at him questioningly and his tongue and lips turned out to be dyed blue from their drink. 

“You’re blue!” Harry was still laughing, and now it was him who spilled some of the pink liquid in his glass on his white shirt. “Shit.” The stain was hardly visible in the flashing lights though, so he decided to forget about it. 

The intro to Beyoncé’s _Single Ladies_ started playing and Harry and Dele agreed in unison that it was time to dance. They finished their drinks in large gulps and rushed to the dance floor, Harry feeling light and happy.

Dele wasn’t the most elegant dancer, but what he lacked in skill he made up in confidence and energy, loving to show off his muscles while acting like he couldn’t see the eyes on him. Harry never quite knew what to do with his hands and actually preferred dancing with other people so he could grab onto shirts or belt loops, but Dele needed his space on the dance floor, eagerly swinging his arms and hips until he had enough attention. Harry’s head was spinning a little already, and it actually made it easier for him to close his eyes and forget the other people around him, just feeling the music. He was pushed around a bit, but it felt nice to lose control for a little while, feeling sweaty bodies close to him, the touch grounding him, comforting him. 

A few songs later, Dele had taken off his jumper, revealing a tight neon yellow tank top underneath, which of course he weirdly pulled off. He tied his jumper around Harry’s hips, gave him a light kiss on the ear and shouted that he was going to get them some shots. Harry nodded happily and continued trying to sing along to a song whose name and artist he always forgot. 

“I think they did a feature with Drake!” He explained to the person next to him, barely hearing himself speak over the music. 

Said person turned to be a very good looking man with short curly hair, wearing a black t-shirt and a silver watch on his wrist that reflected the light from the disco ball. He looked around and then at Harry with a confused facial expression.

“What?” He moved closer and lowered his head. 

“The singer!” Harry gesticulated wildly. 

There were a few drops of sweat rolling down the strangers’ neck and Harry couldn’t take his eyes off them until he felt a strong hand grip his arm, making him look up. 

“I’m Rashid but you can call me Raz.” The man’s voice was low and so deep that it made Harry shiver.

“Your voice is nice.” He said. Pondered for a second. “I’m Harry.” 

Rashid grinned, colourful lights dancing over his face. “Can I get you a drink, Harry?”

“Oh no, Dele is getting us shots.” Harry informed him happily. “He gave me his jumper.”

“Okay.” Rashid looked a bit confused and wiped his sweaty brow with his forearm. “Is Dele your boyfriend?”

“Nooooo.” Harry giggled, looking around. “He’s very pretty. Everybody thinks he’s pretty.” 

Suddenly he spotted Dele’s curly hair in the crowd, waved at a perplexed Raz and pushed through groups of people until he reached his friend.

“Winksy!” Dele pushed two shots into his hands. “Drink this.”

The liquid turned out to be Tequila, which Harry detested, but he was so happy to see Dele that he downed them without complaining. He hung onto Dele’s shirt while they were making their way to the loo because they both needed a piss. It was weirdly quiet in the toilets, the lights low and calming compared to the intense flashing on the dance floor.

Harry washed his hands, getting water everywhere, while staring into the mirror fascinated. 

“Look, my eyes are red.” He giggled but Dele wasn’t next to him anymore, he was chatting to a guy who was still in the middle of peeing and didn’t seem to appreciate the interruption.

“Dele, come on.” Harry pulled his pouting friend away and they stumbled back into the noisy crowd. Dele headed straight to the bar, resolved to get them more shots. Harry clung onto his elbow and tripped over his own feet, crashing into a group of people standing at the bar.

“Fuck, sorry.” He grabbed the counter for support, trying to stand up straight. There was a bit of murmured annoyance about spilled drinks but Harry wasn’t even listening, Dele already handing him more miniature glasses. 

Drinks and more drinks, songs blending into others, being pushed around, Dele shouting in his ear. On the toilet, drinking water from the tap and nearly slipping on the wet floor. Talking to strangers outside, taking drags from a girl’s fag and talking absolute bollocks that made her laugh uncontrollably. 

At some point he and Dele were sitting in a booth at a quiet end of the club, chatting to a group of lads Dele somehow knew when Harry saw somehow he recognised sitting a few seats away. 

“I know you!” He shouted happily. “You’re called Raaaaz.”

“Harry, right?” The dark haired tall guy squeezed down between Harry and Dele, putting an arm around his shoulders. “Having a good night?”

“Yes! Our drinks are pink.” 

“I can see that.” Rashid laughed, his eyes flickering down to Harry’s mouth. “Your lips are really pink.”

“They’re always like that.” Dele chimed in, his speech slurred. “Hot, right?”

“Shut up, Del.” Harry giggled, putting one hand on Dele’s face and pushing him away. 

“You sure he isn’t your boyfriend?” Rashid asking, turning his body fully towards Harry and edging a bit closer. “Cause if he is, I’ll be disappointed, not gonna lie.”

“Why?” Harry noisily slurped the rest of his cocktail through a straw, looking up to Rashid through his eyelashes. 

“Because I’d like to take you home with me if you’re up for it.” Rashid was biting down on his lower drip and his hand on Harry’s shoulders was slowly sliding further down. 

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Oh! Wait, really?” 

“Yeah. Without your friend tagging along, if that’s possible.” Rashid was grinning and his hand was down on Harry’s waist, gripping it loosely and suddenly Harry’s skin was tingling. 

He jumped up from the bench, knocking over his empty glass. “I just need to talk to Dele real quick!” He shouted, his voice weirdly high, climbing over Rashid and pulling Dele away from the group. 

“Dele fuck, he wants me to go home with him, and his hands are really big I don’t know what to do, what do you think he wants from me?”

“Honestly?” Dele was swaying a bit, and his eyes were focused on a spot next to Harry’s face. “He probably wants your pink lips around his cock, Winksy.”

A high sound escaped Harry’s throat. “I. Um. What?”

“Harry, hey.” Dele took his hands, his fingers cool against Harry’s skin. “You’ve done this before, right? He’s hot and he seems alright. What’s the matter?”

“I just –“ Harry tried taking deep breaths and suddenly wished he hadn’t had those last two drinks. “It’s been a while.” He finally admitted. “Haven’t really thought about sex much these past months. I don’t know if I’m ready.” 

Dele hugged him tightly then, and for a split second Harry was grateful that Dele was drunk during this conversation, a bit more honest with his emotions, more open. 

“Winksy. Baby. If you’re not ready, we can go home and go the fuck to sleep.” Dele’s drunk voice made him sound younger for some reason, and Harry felt weirdly protective of his friend right then, ready to defend him against anything and anybody. He wrapped his arms around Dele’s midriff and squeezed lightly.

“You’ve come so far and I’m so proud of you.” Dele mumbled. “Just. Don’t let your worries keep you in a place that you want to leave. Okay? Don’t let your fears hold you back. You’re too strong for that.” 

“Okay. Okay.” Harry whispered. “Thanks Del. I love you.”

He could feel Dele retracting back into himself as soon as he’d said it, but he was still happy he’d said it out loud. Beautiful Dele, always so loud and full of life. Harry knew from the tone of his friend’s voice that he knew what he was talking about. Dele had always been confrontative and brash, and sometimes it stressed Harry out, but as they took a step away from each other in that club in the early morning hours of a Saturday in December, Dele visibly putting his careless attitude back in place and skipping over to the crowded table, Harry thought that there was a reckless sort of bravery about his friend, a decision to be as much himself as his surroundings would allow. In a world that more often than not punished kindness and softness, Dele was clearly wary of showing vulnerability, but the rest of him he didn’t hold back, letting it spill out almost defiantly. 

Smiling to himself, Harry raked through his hair, tugging on his shirt to make it look less creased and slowly made his way back to the handsome stranger waiting for him. Maybe Rashid was more interested in Harry’s pink lips than his heart but that was okay. It was okay. 

After months and months alone in bed every night, staring at a laptop screen but not really watching, feeling numb and detached from everybody else, it was never going to be easy to show himself to others again, to let them touch him, hold him. 

But this, Harry though as Rashid was kissing his neck in the back of their Uber, this was a start. He took deep breaths, leaning his head back and spreading his legs a bit.

Rashid’s flat was big, impersonal. A leather sofa opposite a dark TV-screen. Wooden bookshelves he pushed Harry against, his hands on Harry’s belt and then even lower, tugging, stroking, grabbing. 

It felt good, so good, and Harry relaxed, closed his eyes. Held onto Rashid’s biceps, caressing, squeezing, scratching. When he came, he bit down on a firm shoulder, moaning into the skin and catching his breath for a few minutes. 

It felt like relief.

_I’ll be alright_, he thought, following Rashid into his bedroom, his legs shaking slightly. _I’m good._

Tomorrow he’d go home, make lunch for his mum, take a nap and then a long shower. He’d text Dele, ask him if he got home alright the night before. Call Kyle, or maybe meet him for a coffee. Make Nikita leave the library for at least an hour and get some food. Ask Juan for his plans over Christmas and New Year, if he was going to visit his family in Argentina. 

Maybe one day he’d find someone who would make him feel less scared about opening up, letting himself be known. But for now, this was enough. He was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Dele and I adore drunk Harry!! 
> 
> Alright lads, I loved writing Harry's backstory a lot (he's 22 bc this plays in 2018 btw, this isn't a mistake hehe). Now we're moving on with Eric and Harry's story!! Stay tuned...


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